


Still the Very Sight of Water

by bluemermaid



Category: Cracks (2009)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid
Summary: She doesn't dive again for a year after the incident.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilecourageuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



She doesn't dive again for a year after the incident.

Toes in the dirt, her body poised, she lingers at the edge of the lake. Though the setting is unfamiliar to her, still the very sight of water strikes the same chords in her heart. She was once drawn to water for such stupid little reasons, reasons which haunt her now in the harsh light of reality. She can still hear that voice, clear and bright, sharp as a tack and full of such promise, egging her on, forcing her farther, stirring the pot of competition and desire. That voice is dark now, slinking into her ears, sliding like a shadow under her skin, slipping into the folds of her brain and poking all the places where it hurts.

If she were wise, she'd run from this, turn away from swimming altogether, carve herself a new path over mountains and rocks and desert, anything different. Still, though, the water calls to her.

It is not _the_ lake but it is _a_ lake, and it calls to her.

The wood feels solid beneath her feet as she climbs, as she takes to the diving board with her hands shaking. She does not fear that she has forgotten how to do this; she fears that she remembers.

The sky is open wide all around her, and for the briefest of moments, she feels the echo of pleasure, a brief whisper of the thrill she once had for the sport. The water ripples down below and she feels like a spring, coiled up tightly and ready to burst.

She dives.

The cold is a shock against her skin and the water closes in on all sides, enveloping her in darkness. It feels immediately as though she has donned a once familiar outfit, as though she has shed her old scales and been born anew. She kicks, sliding through the water, her body swirling, heart racing. She feels as though she has come home again.

Emerging through some invisible bubble, her head breaks the surface with a splash and a gasp. By pure instinct she looks to the shore, awaiting the praise, the satisfaction, the look of admiration. But there is no one there.

She is alone; of course she is. Her heart seizes momentarily and she feels as though she is still underneath, still holding her breath, still caught in the grasp of the lake. That voice will never greet her again, will never compliment her dive, will never seem so beautiful and alluring as it once did. 

Di does not know which is worse: that she will never dive for Miss G again, or that, even if she were to do so, it could never be the same.


End file.
